


Research

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Fluff, M/M, Sam POV, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:40:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: Research provides Team Free Will with the information they need to win, but it can also just be a comforting ritual of home.Researching in the Bunker finally gives Dean the space he needs to take a tiny step in the right direction.





	Research

**Author's Note:**

> This little ficlet came about from a tumblr prompt. If you want to prompt me to write something, contact me on tumblr: https://malmuses.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, thanks to my amazing beta, [andimeantittosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting). She is always so patient with my comma vomit, she deserves a medal!

 

  


 

The dim, yellowish lighting of the bunker archives did little to alleviate the tiredness that pulled at its occupants, sinking their eyelids closed against their will. 

Sam rubbed at his forehead, the tension in his body seeming to pool in that one spot. Almost done with his own book, Sam looked up at Dean, sitting stiffly in one of the hard wooden chairs on the other side of the small table. 

Dean squinted down at the old, poorly bound book in front of him, idly shuffling some of its loosening pages back into line. A yawn tore from him unbidden, then a second.

Sam raised his eyebrow across the table, of course. He watched Dean so closely these days (not that he hadn’t always), analyzing every frown and sigh as if Michael was going to suddenly burst forth again. As if the past few weeks had just been a cruel dream, and Dean wasn’t really back.

Cas, on the other hand, had always watched Dean like that. Sam couldn’t remember a time in the past decade when, if the angel was in the room, his eyes didn’t regularly check up on Dean. Right now, those big blues were resting firmly on him, and his voice came first, slightly braver than Sam (or less concerned with Dean’s potential anger).

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Some people would have taken Cas’s solemn, firm tone as uncaring. It had taken Sam many years, but he knew better now. Himself aside, he had long ago come to the conclusion that no one in the universe cared about Dean more than Cas. To Cas, Dean’s wellbeing was serious business, hence the serious tone.

“I’m fine, Cas. Just tired,” Dean reassured him, realizing that his tone was annoyed and trying to follow it up with a grateful smile. Grateful for the care, the attention. Grateful for Cas.

Dean had never been very good at expressing himself. But Michael… the one thing Michael had done was give Dean a lot of time to think, Sam realized. Something had been different, since Dean came back to them. Sam was just waiting to see what came of it. 

Sam’s chair gave a screech of disgust as he gave up on the book he was looking at, slamming it closed as he pushed away from the table. 

“Just a couple more, then I’m going to sleep,” he muttered, mostly to himself. 

Moving over to the stacks, Sam pulled out the next few hopefuls and returned to the desk.

Cas reached over to grab the first, a slim tome of Germanic spells. Flicking through, he raised an eyebrow at Sam and said, “Einfache Rituale für Penisvergrößerungen?” 

Sam flushed slightly. His German wasn’t perfect, but he recognized a spell for penis enlargement when an amused angel was quoting it. “Probably not the book we need, huh?”

Castiel replaced it delicately on the pile and pulled the next one from the stack. It was a thick binder of handwritten letters. Flicking it open, he dived in and read through them, one by one.

Sam was secretly glad that Cas had picked up the binder; he’d been dreading picking through all that crappy handwriting. Dodging the book of German sex spells, he settled for a large tome they’d liberated from a Men of Letters’ storage locker up north. Something had to have the information they needed, and at least this wasn’t a book he’d read before.  

Thumbing through the first couple blank pages and the dedication, Sam’s eyes drifted briefly back up to Dean. He was still staring down at the huge reference book of jumbled loose pages that he’d started tackling half an hour ago, but his expression was unseeing. Whatever Dean was thinking about, it wasn’t in front of him. 

Or maybe it was.

Sam watched as Dean’s eyes flicked to Cas, on and off. 

Finding the first page of actually useful text, Sam turned his eyes back down to it, amused and happy. Dean and his repression of everything vaguely  _ Cas _ had been annoying for the first few years, sure, but now… it wasn’t Michael. And it was, at least for Dean, normal. So Sam was content.

The room became quiet once more, nothing but lamplight, dust motes, and turning pages. The atmosphere was a legacy that the Men of Letters’ bunker seemed to have seamlessly passed on to its most recent inhabitants. This is how things were, in the downtime, between the physical fights, when it all came down to  _ knowing _ . It was, even when desperate, peaceful. It was a time when they could just be and breathe.

The quiet seemed to be giving Dean the time and space he needed, while still giving him purpose, and for that, Sam and Cas had been quietly grateful. They’d spent so long worrying. Fearing. This, even at the times when it was futile, was like a balm to them.

Eventually, Dean looked up.

Sam, of course, had been watching Dean from the corner of his eye and knew he hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes. So he knew that whatever had prompted Dean to move was internal, rather than research related. Some kind of decision that had nothing to do with the words he now pushed across the table, away from him.

“I’m going to hit the hay,” Dean offered, his voice just a fraction tense.

Sam nodded, Cas nodded. Neither looked up. 

Dean pushed his chair back and moved toward the exit into the main library, stopping perhaps three steps from the doorway. One hand formed a fist, then relaxed again as it came out to rest on the edge of a metal framed bookcase. 

“You coming, Cas?”

Sam blinked. Cas blinked. Dean stepped out of the room, not waiting, moving on his way to bed.

Cas’s face cycled through a series of expressions very quickly. 

First, a kind of shock that paled him, causing his eyes to blink fast. Once he’d swallowed through that, he looked puzzled, as if he wasn’t sure he was interpreting Dean correctly. His mouth dropped open just a fraction, Cas looked at Sam with his jaw loose and amazed. In his eyes, though, Sam saw the nerves and dawning hope that had him pinned, frozen.

Sam wasn’t doing much better, choking on astonishment. But he was perhaps a little better at these kinds of emotional surprises than Cas, because he recovered first.

He gave Cas a tiny, almost excited smile, allowing his amazement to show. He needed to show Cas that this was okay. He needed to encourage him.

The corner of Cas’s mouth turned up slightly, the hope that Sam had identified gently increasing. It was a tiny smile that said,  _ Do I have this right? Could he… does he…? _

Sam nodded just a fraction, a tiny laugh escaping him.

“Cas,” Sam said gently. “It’s been a decade, dude. What are you waiting for?”

  
  


***

 

Research was always the same. It didn’t matter what else in their lives evolved, which bad guy was causing problems that week, or the people that came and went, research was always the stable staple. The soft lighting never brightened, the musty smell never altered, and the sounds of parchment turning and folding never changed.

The bunker archives were both a haven and a prison; giving them respite and trapping them until they could move further.

Sam, Dean, and Cas had been at it for around seven hours before Sam rose to pick out the final stack of reading from the packed shelves that surrounded them.

“One more,” Sam sighed, “then I’m going to sleep.”

The refrain was similar, every single time, a comforting habit that was part of the rituals they’d developed living in the bunker over the years. They hadn’t had a home for too long for them to not immediately become creatures of habit once they had the chance.

Dropping the final pile of books into the center of the table, Sam settled in with a treatise on Mediterranean witchcraft in the eighteenth century. He kicked his feet up on the empty chair next to him, running a slow finger down the index for anything hopeful.

To his left, Cas added a book of Sumerian demon summonings to the reject pile, going instead for a thick book of Aramaic proverbs. He knew it would save them a lot of time if he read them, rather than Sam having to translate. 

Three or four pages in, rolling his eyes at how needlessly dramatic the Arameans could be when it came to their written histories and tales, Cas’s attention was caught by Dean pushing his book across the table.

Dean reached up, his back popping as he stretched his arms over his head. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, despite his protestations, and sitting still for hours had never been his favorite thing; now it wasn’t his back’s favorite thing, either.

“That’s about all the reading on the occult languages of Medieval England that I can manage for one day,” Dean grumbled mildly. “Those superstitious bastards had a phrase for everything.”

Sam huffed slightly in agreement. “That’s true. Better luck tomorrow, maybe.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, pushing himself up to stand. “I’m going to hit the hay.”

Tidying his pile of books, he pushed his chair in under the table. Turning off the lamp he’d been nearest, Dean nodded once to Sam and then looked over to Cas.

“You coming, Cas?” he asked, his voice edging on sleep.

Cas abandoned his Aramaic, smoothing out his trench coat habitually as he stood. “Of course,” he smiled, reaching to twine his fingers in Dean’s as they moved toward the doorway.

“Night guys,” Sam called, returning his attention to his research.

 


End file.
